Voices In The Sky
by bottlefullofarsenic
Summary: Imogen Featherby had always heard them. Guiding her. She always thought it was normal for others. But then she was diagnosed. Locked up for two and a half years. Four months after her release, a kind woman named Martha Hudson helps her in the supermarket. Consequently, she is pulled into the shenanigans of one Sherlock Holmes. NOT FINISHING
1. Chapter 1

**I am currently doing my best to edit this one my own and also put up the new chapter, but just bear with me and soon enough I'll get it done.**

* * *

Straining helplessly, Imogen Featherby was trying to replace her cart to the others in the supermarket, while trying to hold onto her bags. She was failing immensely.

It didn't help that after those two torturous years in that institution, her physical state was less than desirable. Don't even mention her emotional and mental states.

"Do you need help, dear?" a kindly voice sounded from behind Imogen. It would've normally just made Imogen jump, but that was before she had been locked up. Nowadays, she would've started so badly that she would knock a couple of things down and almost get a concussion from falling down. And so that's what she did.

"Oh dear, are you alright?" the voice said again, and Imogen managed to twist around enough to spot a stout old woman with a kind and maternal disposition.

"Mmyes," Imogen mumbled, hoisting herself up and brushed herself off, embarrassed. She could tell that her lip was split from the impact of the face plant she just did, and that her navy blue hair was probably mangled.

"Here, dear, I have some tissues," the kind old woman, as she removed a crumpled white tissue from her purse. Imogen gladly took it and pressed it to her bleeding lip, and when she pulled it away it was flooded with red. Wrinkling her nose, she folded it over and replaced it on her lip.

"Thank you," she said automatically, her expression and voice flat. The old woman broke into a smile.

"Martha Hudson. And you are?" The woman asked, the smile still on.

"Imogen Featherby," she responded, pulling the tissue away to inspect it. Still red.

"I'm sorry to pry, but where is your home?" Mrs. Hudson said suddenly, and Imogen gave her a wary glance before answering.

"I'm staying at a friend's. 266 Bale Court. Could you bring me there?" Imogen brightened up, her expression still flat but she had a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

"That's what I was offering, dear. Come on, we don't want to get into traffic at the wrong time," the stout old lady said kindly, and Imogen followed her, arms laden with bags.

* * *

Now sitting in her "friend's" flat, surrounded by food and other items of necessity, Imogen dreaded her next task. Putting the items away.

In order to put that off, Imogen grabbed her laptop and started a search for a flat of her own.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to live in your grandmother's flat right after she had died and the landlord had no idea you existed.

* * *

A knock sounded upon the door of 221 Baker Street. It had been a rare quiet afternoon for the inhabitants, but of course it was interrupted.

A very unhappy Mrs. Hudson answered the door, but she instantly brightened when she saw who it was.

"Imogen!" She cried happily, and opened the door to let the willowy young woman through. Imogen flashed a painful looking smile at her before looking around.

"I saw that you had a flat open?" Imogen said slowly, still looking around.

"Yes, dear. Do you want to see it?" Mrs. Hudson inquired, already going into her flat to retrieve the keys.

"Please, yes!" Imogen called, seemingly happy with the surroundings and had stopped looking around.

Just Mrs. Hudson came back with the keys, there was a shout above and then various loud noises. The stout old woman's demeanor changed immediately, and she ran upstairs, annoyed and worried. Intrigued, Imogen followed her, listening closely.

"SHERLOCK! What are you doing to that bloody wall?" Mrs. Hudson yelled, and Imogen slowly turned the corner to see this "Sherlock".

There was a tall, thin man with black curls and alabaster white skin standing there in a simple t-shirt, sweats and a dressing gown, staring down with a barely hidden smirk at Mrs. Hudson while she scolded at him.

The man glanced at Imogen, then did a double take, silencing Mrs. Hudson.

"Who are you?" He asked, cocking his head to the side.

"...Imogen Featherby," she responded hesitantly.

"Oh, Imogen! This is Sherlock Holmes, another one of my tenants," Mrs. Hudson said, straightening.

"Pleasure," Sherlock said nonchalantly before turning once again to Mrs. Hudson. "Now, Mrs. Hudson, I'm sure that this Imogen wants to see the flat before she takes it and I'm sure that I want to be left alone. So, go away."

Imogen watched with slight interest as the argument between the two resumed, then flinched when all of a sudden the smiley face on the wall started to join in the shouting, accompanied soon by more faces and wailing voices.

The voices flooded her ears and mind, making a huge racket. She tried her hardest not to respond, not to clap her hands over her ears, but apparently something physical revealed her troubles because Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock looked at her and the kind old woman asked her, "Are you alright, dear?"

Imogen barely heard the question, as one of the faces was wailing exceptionally loud, but she shook her head vigorously and then responded.

"I don't know," she said, distracted by yet another voice. Shooting a withering look at the wall, the voices' volume went down a bit, just enough to hear the real people.

While this might have made sense to Imogen at the time, Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock were confused at her answer.

"Hmm? Oh yeah, fine," Imogen mumbled, as one of the faces let out a loud laugh. She spun around to glare at the wall, knowing perfectly well that the others couldn't see or hear what she was experiencing. But, god damn it, she needed to deal with this.

"What is she going on about?" Mrs. Hudson wondered aloud, and this seemed to shake Imogen out of her reverie.

"The flat. I'll take it," Imogen said, turning to the perplexed Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock. She smiled, then dropped the expression.

"But you haven't even seen the flat, dear," Mrs. Hudson asked, confused, but Imogen just waved her off.

"I don't need to. I'm sure it's okay," she said flatly. Mrs. Hudson looked to Sherlock, who shrugged, grabbed his gun, and walked into the kitchen.

"Oh - well, alright. You can move in whenever, just make sure to contact me first," Mrs. Hudson complied reluctantly.

"Right, good. See you… whenever I see you," Imogen shot over her shoulder before walking back down the stairs.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head, a small smile on her face, and left, leaving a Sherlock quite intrigued by one Imogen Featherby.

* * *

 **I hope this new and improved chapter is as enjoyable as the other one. I realized that Imogen's condition (which I am not revealing until the release of the new chapter ;)) was not AT ALL believable and edited it so it was better. I'm pleased with it, so I hope you are as well.**

 **If you can guess her condition, I'll give you something! ... Maybe.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Again, I edited this to make it more believable, but also because a reviewer alerted me to a problem with Imogen's pets (thanks Saavikam69!) and I fixed it.**

 **Thank you to Saavikam69 (again) and astudyinredbeard for your reviews!**

* * *

Imogen stood at the doorway of her new residence, 221 C. This isn't what she was expecting at all.

The walls were cracked and dirty, and the paint was peeling. The windows were dingy. And yet… it felt friendly, and she was sure that if she did a few things it would be more than comfortable.

Feeling confident, she reached down and grabbed a paint bucket and tarp. Time to get to work, and hopefully there wouldn't be too many distractions.

* * *

Sherlock was, not surprisingly, annoyed with Mrs. Hudson.

The crazy old woman had kicked him out of his flat for twelve hours for her annual "spring cleaning", which basically meant she was going to get rid of all of his experiments and body parts, remove the dust, and basically make a mess of everything. He was, in short, void of the happy spirit that Mrs. Hudson usually had when she did the "spring cleaning" every year.

And so he went with the least annoying option for distracting his boredom. Visiting Imogen. It had been at least a week after she had moved in, and he never saw a trace of her anywhere.

Putting his gloved hands into his pockets, he walked down the stairs, and knocked three times on the door of Imogen's flat. He heard movement from inside, but nobody answered the door.

Huffing, he took the spare paperclip out of his pocket and fitted it into the lock. Twisting and wiggling it around, he finally heard a click. Satisfied, he swung the door open just to be ambushed by an army of animals

Okay, well, it was actually just four animals, and he wasn't ambushed, and just one of them had come up to him. But it still surprised him.

He studied the excited ferret who was bouncing around his feet, nipping his ankles and wrestling its own tail. A sharp whistle sounded from the small, thin armchair that Sherlock had not realized was occupied until he looked up. Imogen was sitting there, watching the overexcited ferret scamper over to her.

"Hello," he greeted, and she nodded, not meeting his eyes. He spotted a snake that was curled in an aquarium which was placed in the fireplace. Okay, that was strange, but why not. A raven was pecking at a bowl full of what suspiciously looked like was also a peculiar shaped pillow, but Sherlock paid it no mind.

"Here. Sit while I get the tea gear," Imogen mumbled, rhyming it unconsciously. As she left the room, the raven turned its head to study him curiously. He stared at it for a little, studying the intelligence in its eyes.

Turning, he found a spare armchair that he quickly sat in. He looked around the flat some more. The windows were cleaned, the paint was new, and overall it had an air of being recently cleaned. However, his inspection was then rudely interrupted by the raven flying over to sit on his head.

Needless to say, those talons were not fun to have tangled in your hair.

Sherlock raised up an uncertain hand to the bird, who studied it before nuzzling it. Okay then, it was an affectionate, albeit exceptionally large and smart, raven. Sure.

Turning to the fireplace, he soon realized that Imogen had left the top unlocked, allowing the snake to slither out and over to his feet. It curled around his feet, doing nothing more than squeezing slightly and then settling there. Great, he was starting to feel a bit claustrophobic.

Sherlock was getting used to the feeling of having the immense weight of the raven on his head and neck. It's intelligent eyes studied him and clacked its beak. Sherlock responded with clicking his tongue in a similar manner. Satisfied, it settled on his head, and he couldn't feel any more movement from it.

By this time, Sherlock was wondering where the heck Imogen had disappeared off to and how he would get up to leave. That last question came into sharper focus when the pillow turned out to be a cuddly fox kit. A sleepy, cuddly fox kit.

He was relieved when Imogen reappeared and clicked her tongue three times followed by a whistle, making the raven fly to a perch by the doorway and the snake annoyedly slither away. That just left the fox asleep in his lap, but by then he didn't mind the extra heat and the soft fur.

Imogen deposited a warm cup of tea into his hands, and left to sit in her small chair, legs pulled up in front of her.

"So. Why are you here?" Imogen asked around her cup.

"Mrs. Hudson kicked me out," Sherlock replied immediately, taking a sip. It was alright. He continued to drink it, eyeing the biscuits. They looked delicious.

"Mmm. That sounds... Thanks for visiting me. I haven't had a visitor yet," she continued on. Sherlock didn't mind that she broke off mid-sentence to continue onto another subject.

"Not even Mrs. Hudson?" he asked, surprised. She shook her head, and when the raven came to settle on her head she stroked the feathers lightly with one finger. He watched the raven with interest as he reached for a biscuit. He had been correct, those biscuits were heavenly.

"His name is Thanatos," Imogen broke through the slightly uncomfortable silence. Sherlock looked up, startled, and saw that she was pointing to the raven currently sleeping on her head. "That's Foxglove, on your lap. The snake is Belladonna," she continued.

"And the ferret?" he replied, grabbing two more biscuits.

"Paul," she said nonchalantly. Sherlock choked on the piece of chocolate biscuit he had been currently inhaling.

"P-paul? Oh, I was expecting something more like… I don't know, Cyanide?" Sherlock laughed.

"I was sixteen when I named him, okay? I hadn't nearly been as creative as I am now," she snorted, covering her mouth. Sherlock sobered up, and grabbed his teacup before cracking another smile.

"No, no, Paul is a perfectly acceptable name for a ferret," he said, and the said ferret came crawling up his leg to bounce over the now annoyed fox and beg for scratches. Sherlock complied.

"He's old, though. Still energetic. I don't know how he does it," she replied, watching Paul bite Sherlock playfully.

Both of the occupants in the armchairs looked to the door where a satisfied-looking Mrs. Hudson now stood. Imogen raised a hand in greeting while Sherlock quirked an eyebrow and the raven, Thanatos, cawed loudly.

"Sherlock, you're allowed to go back to your flat now," the stout old woman told him happily. Oh god. She had finished removing all "dangerous materials", clearly, meaning his new experiment was probably in the trash. He moved off the armchair, placing the old ferret and young fox onto the floor. He walked out, nodding to Mrs. Hudson and Imogen as a goodbye, and walked upstairs. It was only until he replaced his coat that he realized that Belladonna had been following him the whole time.

Sighing, he returned the satisfied snake to her owner. He had a feeling that this wasn't the last encounter with Imogen's pets.

* * *

 **I feel this is quite a bit better. I do have plans for her pets in the future, this isn't just a whim that I had to make Imogen have four animals. However, the point of the animals will not be revealed until a few chapters ;).**

 **Again, if you want to guess what Imogen's condition is, you can! in this chapter it isn't as apparent, but try your best!**


	3. Chapter 3

**So, in this chapter there's some gore and mentions of violence. Also, I'm revealing Imogen's condition. Seeing as none of you guess, nobody gets the prize, but there will be mini contests and polls like that in the future.**

 **I don't own Sherlock (sadly). Imogen is my character and my character only, and there will be more characters introduced here that are mine that are making cameos from their own stories.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Running a hand through his curls, Sherlock took a step back and growled in frustration. Had that whole broadcast just been a sick, twisted practical joke? John was typing at his laptop, no doubt updating his blog about the current "Moriarty Madness", or so he called it. John did have a knack for coming up with the weirdest nicknames for Sherlock's cases. It had been one week since the broadcast, and two since Imogen moved in. Now that he thought about it, there had been no signs of life from her.

Wait, scratch that. He had seen Imogen carefully extract herself from her flat and leave the building, coming back in exactly two hours and thirty-seven minutes, laden with multitudes of bags. That had been yesterday.

Today, he had heard scuffling and muffled music from downstairs. He guessed that Imogen had grown tired of the silence and decided to put on something. He could still hear some of the music, which had turned from a horrible pop tune to classical music. He groaned in frustration and covered his face with his hands. Although the song currently playing was enjoyable, it did not help with concentration.

John looked up from his computer, opened his mouth, then looked down again when his phone buzzed. Sherlock could tell, even with his back turned, that the text was important.

"Lestrade texted me," John informed him, worry clear in his voice.

"Murder?" Sherlock asked.

"Yep," John replied, and grabbed his coat. He looked at Sherlock, who was completely immersed in The Work. He was surprised therefore when Sherlock looked up and started to get his coat.

"What? I can take a break," Sherlock scoffed, looking slightly scandalized. "I do suppose this case was a request from Mary, due to her complaining you were getting restless and your disgruntled expression," he continued, nodding to the phone and openly ignoring John's expression of shock and winding the scarf around his neck.

"I-I, you utter," John stuttered, but he didn't say anything more, which prompted Sherlock to give him a little smirk in return. Of course he was right, he always was.

The little victory that Sherlock had was then interrupted. The duo was walking down the seventeen steps to the door when the door to Imogen's flat cracked open slightly, a single grey eye peeking through.

"Hello, Imogen. What's the matter now?" Sherlock asked offhandedly, prompting John to look towards the door, confused, and for Imogen to narrow the one eye.

"Who's this?" John asked, intrigued. Too late, Sherlock realized that John did not know who Imogen was, and probably didn't even know that she had moved in two weeks ago. That's probably why John had a weird look when the pop song was playing downstairs, thinking that Mrs. Hudson was listening to it.

"Imogen Featherby," the muffled voice replied, then there was a string of rhymed curse words as the snake, Belladonna, attempted to slither out the crack of the door. She left the crack of the door, probably to put away the boa constrictor. Then there was even more curse words and a sharp exclamation of "Stupid worm reptile!", which prompted both John and Sherlock to look at each other in barely hidden amusement. Of course, Geoff was probably waiting for them, but it could wait just a little bit more.

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted by the thump of Imogen hopping back to the door. The door was opened completely to reveal a very disgruntled Imogen, with her left pant leg rolled up to reveal four deep puncture marks in her calf. John made a sort of gasping noise and Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"She didn't want to go into her cage so she bit me," Imogen growled. "Not poisonous. Just a bite."

"Well. Sorry about that. Do you want to go on the case with us or sit here jabbering about the snake and her biting you?" Sherlock said, gesturing to Imogen's leg. Imogen's eyes brightened.

"I can go on a case with you?" she asked hopefully.

"Wait a second, Sherlock! She just got bitten by a snake and now you're inviting her on a case?!" John stepped in, his voice cracking with indignation. Sherlock stared at him as if he had just grown a second head.

"Yes, I do believe I just did because she said that it wasn't poisonous and, to quote, 'Just a bite'. You can take care of her, anyways," he replied, then waved him off. John glared at him while Imogen watched the two desperately.

"Can you walk on that leg?" John turned and asked Imogen, who nodded.

"Then it's settled. We're already late as it is," Sherlock said, and opened to door to 221. John followed, watching out for Imogen, who was hurriedly pulling on Converse and hopping over to the door at the same time.

"Right. I'm ready," Imogen reassured John as she straightened up, her left leg gently taking some of her weight.

"Okay, when we're in the cab I'm having a look at that leg," John said as Sherlock bellowed at the two to hurry up.

* * *

Imogen looked around the crime scene with fascination and curiosity. Most of the time the investigative team stared back, and some even waved at her. All eyes, however, darted towards her left leg and the four red spots in the bandage.

Her leg had been patched up with the help of John while Sherlock had texted away at his phone. The taxi ride had been mostly silent, punctuated by John's grumbles and the occasional soft voice of Imogen.

When they arrived at the scene, they had immediately been greeted by Lestrade, who had looked slightly green and warned them that the crime scene was incredibly bloody. He had also questioned Sherlock about Imogen, although it was more like Lestrade shouting at Sherlock that he was already breaking the rules by letting Sherlock and John in the crime scene, and Imogen was pushing the limits. Sherlock of course won the argument, though, and Imogen faithfully followed after John and Sherlock.

With the first look at the red-splattered walls of the alleyway, Imogen was convinced of the DI's words. Sherlock pulled on his leather gloves as John gagged, and then pulled on protective gear. Imogen followed soon after, but not without a good look at the body.

"When was she found?" Sherlock asked Lestrade, who said that they had gotten the call that afternoon. Sherlock kneeled next to the body, which was ravaged and torn apart crudely. The face was destroyed beyond recognition and the girl was only identified by her ID found in her jacket pocket. The stomach had been slashed open, and the arms and legs were twisted and cut various places. There were also chunks of flesh missing all over the body, and the blood splattered everywhere was clear evidence that there had been a fight.

"She looks like she was eaten," John said in disgust, touching one of the many holes where skin a muscle had been.

"Your first great deduction of the night, John," Sherlock said. John and Imogen shared a look, not sure whether Sherlock was sarcastic or not, but John took it as a compliment anyway.

"Wait, wait, I know this," Imogen interrupted in the middle of a deduction from Sherlock, who looked at her in annoyance. It didn't help that the corpse's mouth opened and it squeaked out a desperate "help me!" to Imogen.

"Well, grace everyone with your knowledge, Imogen," Sherlock drawled sarcastically.

"Well, when I was in the… institution, I shared a room with three others," Imogen began. Lestrade, John and Sherlock all glanced at each other at the mention of the institution, but kept their mouths shut.

"Anyway, there was this girl in there who basically 'ruled' the room. Her name was Wendy Windval," she continued, swallowing nervously at the mention of the name. Sherlock wracked his mind palace for a mention of the name, and nothing had come up.

"Well, you could say she 'graduated' before me, along with the other two. I did come in later than them, after all. She behaved for a while, but now I guess the urge overtook her and she started again," her voice shook at some of the words, and it was clear that she was terrified at the notion of this woman being loose in the word. Imogen cracked a nervous smiled that unsettled John and Lestrade.

"Oh, well, I would suppose you would hear of her as the serial cannibal know as 'The Wolf'," Imogen finished, and Sherlock finally knew what she was talking about as he found the file on The Wolf in his mind palace.

"Former serial cannibal Wendy Windval, alias 'The Wolf'. Killed and ate four people in New Orleans, then flew over to London to cover her trail and killed seven more here. Admitted in the Bethlem Royal Hospital on October 13, 2010, released on March 23, 2013. Has laid low until now," Sherlock informed the others, and while they had been confused before now John looked unnerved while Lestrade looked horrified.

"We had a field day trying to figure out those murders, and now she's back?" Lestrade moaned, covering his face with his hands.

"Sorry," Imogen said in a small voice.

"And her friends?" John asked. Imogen contemplated.

"Bernadette Shrieker, Jack Ripper and Mae… Everflow? Yeah. Bernadette was known as Shrieker and Mae as Doll Bones. Bernadette murdered all her friends, family and more with her friend Jack Ripper using blades before the police caught them. She's from Italy and Jack is British. Mae uses her victim's bones and skin to make dolls, dress and jewelry. She's American," Imogen filled in. The three others looked at her warily.

"They used to tell me stories of their lives," Imogen said quickly. Sherlock didn't seem convinced, but he let it go.

"Now, what I want to know is why you were in there with them," Lestrade said, crossing his arms and lifting his chin. Imogen paled and John looked confused. Only Sherlock was engrossed in the body. They had wasted too much time with all this talk of Wendy and the other serial killers.

Imogen mumbled something unintelligible. John raised an eyebrow and Lestrade shifted.

"This girl is about nineteen, Asian descent, still living with her parents, has two cats, lives in Whitechapel. She was here with friends, she went back here because the murderer lured her," Sherlock reeled off.

"I guess you could say I hear, see and feel stuff," Imogen finally quietly said after Sherlock was done with his deductions.

"So you mean you're schizophrenic?" John asked, intrigued. Sherlock got up and removed his gloves, signalling to the others that he was done.

"If you want to word it that way, yeah," Imogen said in even quieter voice.

"Okay," Lestrade, and nodded. Imogen looked up, startled.

"Wait, you don't, like, think I'm crazy?" Imogen said, astonished. Sherlock glanced at her with an unreadable expression. Was that pity?

"Do people usually tell you you're crazy?" John asked her as they walked back to the edge of the crime scene. Donovan and Anderson watched with disdain at the group of three.

"Yeah, and try to convince me what I see and hear isn't real. I laugh when the shadow people attempt to attack them, though," Imogen said, cracking a smile. John chuckled.

"Now, are you two going to sit there and chat like pigeons or actually get in the cab?" Sherlock interrupted irritably.

Imogen got into the cab, already feeling better than she had been before about her condition.

* * *

 **Yeah, so Imogen has schizophrenia. I really had to do my research to make it as realistic as possible, but it still may be a little wonky in the future. Plus, I had to search up the Bethlem Royal Hospital and get that right, as well. And I had to search if boa constrictors were poisonous or not! (plus a bunch of little stuff.)**

 **I hate it when things are inaccurate, so if anything is weird or out of place, please tell me.**

 **Well, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and hopefully the new one will be up soon.**


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